


Can't Hardly Wait

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Draco Malfoy Being an Asshole, F/M, Infedelity, One Shot, POV Pansy Parkinson, Porn With Plot, Smut, Tag(line) You're It! Competition, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29644479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "If anything, Pansy felt sorry for her, because the poor girl hadn’t yet realized she’d agreed to a deal with a devil. A devil who didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself."Written for the Tag(Line), You're It! Competition
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15
Collections: Tag(line) You're It! Competition





	Can't Hardly Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020) collection. 



> **Director's Choice**
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> "Every second chance begins with a first step." (Step Up)
> 
>  **Wheel of Death Character:** Draco Malfoy
> 
> Thank you to FaeOrabel, FirewhiskySoul, feelingofthesea, KoraKwidditch, and WordsmithMusings for hosting such a fun comp!

Ministry galas were always so outlandishly dull. The invitations were sent out months in advance, and their arrivals would cause quite the stir amongst those considered the _elite_ of Wizarding Britain. In reality, the event itself rarely lived up to the ridiculous expectations of its attendees. More often than not, it merely served as the preceding month’s topic of discussion for those who thought highly of themselves and their station.

“ _Oh, I’ve been terribly busy,_ ” one wife of some Ministry Official may quip to her fellow hens at tea time. “ _What, with all the robe fittings and the diamond shopping_ —”

“— _Diamonds?_ ” a member of the hypothetical flock would squawk, to which the original speaker would titter, “ _Of course! What dear Reginald doesn’t know won’t hurt him!_ ”

Pansy Parkinson winced, raising her wine glass to her lips. In her youth, she’d witnessed far too many of these soirees and, even a decade later, could hear the fictitious murder of high society women crow in delight. True, her knowledge of such things were from what felt like a lifetime ago, since nowadays Pansy didn’t attend many Pureblood tea parties, so it was possible their dynamics had changed since the end of the war. 

Since the fall of the Dark Lord.

_Voldemort_ , Pansy mentally corrected as she scanned the crowd before her. There were hundreds of witches and wizards packed together in the main atrium of the Ministry of Magic, all dressed in their finest robes and most dazzling jewelry. _At least some things haven’t changed_ , she thought, taking another sip of bitter, dark red liquid. 

It had been five years since one of the most heinous Dark Wizards in history was defeated, and wizarding society had progressed leaps and bounds in his absence. Many of his followers were either dead or in Azkaban, and the Aurors still hunted the few that had managed to get away. Some of Pansy’s own family members were included in the former, either rotting away in a cell or below the ground.

While Pansy had been able to avoid Azkaban, there were consequences for being associated with Death Eaters and attempting to turn over the Chosen One to a psychopathic, mass murder. It seemed that retribution had come in the form of losing access to her family's Gringotts accounts, and being labeled a societal outcast by most of Wizarding Britain for a few years.

She’d take that over a life sentence any day.

Pansy sighed, pulling herself from her thoughts and the isolated corner she had found as she moseyed back into the fray, ready once more to be bombarded by unavoidable interactions. The ends of her black satin gown just barely touched the floor, as the water-like fabric swayed about her legs. With each step, the slit that ran up her thigh allowed for tasteful flashes of skin to peek through, leaving just enough to the imagination in a most tantalizing way.

Her heels clicked against the marble floors, inaudible over the conversations and laughter that reverberated off the high windows around her. She smiled and nodded to those she knew, politely dodged those she pretended not to, and finally came to a stop at the foot of the gala’s main exhibit.

Before her stood another testament to the changes their world had undergone. Depicted in lustrous, gleaming gold were the many races that made up their magical community. A tall, noble looking witch and wizard stood on either end of the line up, and in between them were statues of house elves, centars, goblins, werewolves, giants, and what she was pretty sure was supposed to be a squib. They stood in a row, hands and paws clasped as spouts of water arced over their smiling faces, the plaque beneath them reading: 

_‘Magic For All, For the Betterment of All’_

It was this very sentiment they had all gathered that evening to celebrate and raise funds for, and a sentiment that was very near and dear to Pansy’s own heart.

The Gala was being hosted for the benefit of _The ‘Acclimation of Muggle Born Witches and Wizards into Wizarding Society’ Society_ ’, or AMBWWWSS for short. Pansy rolled her eyes at the thought. 

Leave it to Granger to not only come up with the most ridiculous names for these sorts of things, but then insist on an _easy to remember acronym_. Of course remembering an acronym that contained half the letters of the alphabet _would_ be easy for the Golden Girl, wouldn’t it? The only question that Pansy had was why Granger neglected to include a few Ancient Runes or Arithmancy equations into the title. Surely, she could’ve made them fit.

Hermione Granger's involvement in the society aside, Pansy had actually been invited to the event as a Guest of Honor. She’d been acknowledged as “ _one whose contributions had been paramount in the efforts to create a more flawless transition for Muggle Borns and their families into the wizarding world”._

Pansy merely saw it as having noted an untapped market and providing a service. Anyone with half a brain, and years worth of listening to her father talk business at the dining table, would’ve done it. Still, she wasn’t about to turn down free drinks and a chance to make connections. She wasn’t _that_ altruistic.

“You know, even Kingsley didn’t stare at the designs for the fountain nearly as long as you’ve been looking at it.” 

Pansy was pulled from her ruminations, and snapped her head up in the direction of the voice. Her lips stretched into a polite smile as her eyes landed on Harry Potter, Head of the Auror Department and Savior of All.

In the years since Hogwarts, Pansy found that life had a funny way of making friends of those you previously considered enemies and strangers of those you previously considered friends. The mere notion that Harry Potter wanted to talk to her would’ve been beyond bizarre five years ago, but was now a common occurrence. 

It was a change in her life, she noted, that she didn’t entirely dislike.

“How’s the Missus?”

Harry sighed. “As fiery as ever. She’s around here, somewhere. Probably cornered by a reporter who wants to grill her about the upcoming game,” Harry pulled a face, and Pansy grimaced in mock sympathy for dear Ginny Potter-Weasley. 

“The Harpies are playing Ballycastle next weekend,” Harry explained. “And, you know how Gin loves any opportunity to make Marcus Flint look like an arse.”

“Don’t we all,” Pansy laughed. In recent years, her life included a startling amount of interactions with the Potters. Harry was the biggest proponent of her project, besides Granger. “Remind me to ask her to knock him out of the sky for me.”

Harry hummed, his green eyes full of a mischief rumored to have been passed down to him from his father. “How’s business?” he asked. “I know the Post Office is doing well, now that the Ministry is funding it. Congratulations on your most recent proposal, by the way,” Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Hermione was going on and on about what clever spell work that was—charming Muggle mail boxes so magically addressed letters go straight to the wizarding post building—”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “A simple modification of a switching spell, Potter. Though, I’m not surprised it’s over your head. If I remember correctly, you were utter pants in Transfigurations—”

“—I got _an OWL_ in Transfiguration,” Harry corrected in a grumble, and Pansy laughed again. “Anyway,” he said, after her mirth at his expense had subsided, “that’s not what I wanted to ask—how’s the work with George coming along?”

“Good,” Pansy mused, a faint smirk touching her lips. In fact, her work with George Weasley was going better than good. Since approaching him nearly two years ago with her prototype for Two Way Journals, the two had come up with loads of other products specifically for those who had family outside of the wizarding world. 

“We’re currently trying our hand at incorporating magic into muggle mobile phones. Your father-in-law has one of the latest prototypes,” Pansy turned her head, stabbing Potter with a meaningful glare. “And, may I say, what a _treat_ that’s been.”

Harry threw his head back, roaring with a laugh so boisterous it caused several groups conversing nearby to stutter and look. Pansy shook her head, chuckling as Harry collected himself.

“Sorry,” Harry choked, wiping tears from his eyes. “But the thought of Arthur texting is…” he trailed off, shaking his head and running a hand down his face. “ _That’s funny._ ”

“Very,” she replied as a flash of platinum blonde hair caught her eye from across the atrium. Harry continued prattling on about the horrors that was Arthur Weasley and his love of all things muggle, as Pansy watched a blonde head bob up and down amongst the sea of attendees.

_Draco Malfoy._

His strides were measured as he swept through the crowds, people parting before him as if afraid to get in his way. Pansy’s eyes narrowed and her heart skipped a beat, a cold shiver racing down her spine in a mixture of feelings she couldn’t quite place. 

Anxiety? Fear? Hatred? Longing?

She shook them off, taking another sip of her wine and trying very hard to keep her eyes and mind on Potter. Golden Boy Potter, savior of the wizarding world, conversing with a Parkinson turn coat like they were old friends, because they were friends.

Pansy had aligned herself with the war’s victors. She’d worked hard to shed her skin, to adapt to the current state of the world, to overcome years of brainwashing and prejudiced rhetoric and…

Her eyes were misbehaving.

Draco, head held high and wearing a pleasant smile, now stood on the backside of the fountain, speaking with a gaggle of Ministry officials. A slender woman with dark brown hair leaned against his shoulder, her face stunningly beautiful—as if carved from marble by an ancient Greek artisan.

They made a striking couple, Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy. At least, that was the consensus of most of Wizarding Britain. Their courtship had been splashed all over the society pages of _The Prophet_ for nearly a year now, with many readers thinking that Astoria was doing great things for Draco’s image. Softening him, and smoothing out his rough edges.

With the way they were standing together, pressed so tightly into one other, it was like they’d become some sort of fused symbiotic creature. They looked happy, which would undoubtedly be printed in _The Daily Prophet’s_ article recounting the Gala’s highlights, along with a picture of the young couple. 

It made Pansy sick.

Draco hadn’t fared too bad in the fallout after the war, all things considered. He was the only marked Death Eater who’d avoided time in Azkaban. His age and submitted testimonies had been what saved him. Pansy had cried the day he’d been cleared of all charges, thankful beyond measure that he had been spared. 

Although, now she wasn’t so sure his freedom had been a good thing for her. 

As Pansy stewed, nodding every now and then as Potter talked and engaged with the other guests around them, she realized she’d cried many times because of the Malfoy heir in her lifetime. Any type of emotionally wrought moment that called for the wetting of eyes and involved the blonde boy, Pansy had risen to the occasion. She was sure if she had bottled them, she would have enough tears to drown herself in. It was a sobering, if not morbidly comforting, thought. Pansy hated him for it. 

She despised him for invoking such feelings inside her. For worming his way into her heart and rooting himself so firmly that she didn’t know where she began and he ended. She hated him for becoming the person he now was, and abandoning the person he’d once been. 

She hated that the memories of how he treated her, like she meant the world to him, were now things of the past, haunting her like ghosts of what could’ve been. No matter what he said or did to deny it, the proof of his loyalties stood beside him with a pretty smile and a pair of large blue eyes.

True to his namesake, Draco was possessive to a fault and refused to let go of what he perceived as his. Unfortunately for Pansy, this included herself.

Suddenly, as if he could feel her glare burning holes into the outer jacket of his robes from across the atrium, Draco’s head snapped up and turned in her direction. Even from this far, she could see the light of recognition and mild surprise flash behind his eyes, and it was only a fraction of a second before those pale grey orbs strayed from her. They roved over the faces of those around her, as if taking inventory of her surroundings. His eyes narrowed.

He didn’t seem to like the company she was keeping.

Pansy watched as he removed his hand from Astoria’s back, bowing his head down to whisper something gently into her ear. The witch’s lips curled into a demure smile, cheeks flushing a most becoming rosey pink, as she patted his chest and appeared to bid him leave. With a kiss to her cheek, Draco excused himself from those he’d been conversing with, all gracious smiles and handshakes, before he turned his back on them and to Pansy’s eyes once more.

Only, his smile had vanished, replaced by a set jaw and a stern expression. 

Draco began to stalk through the crowd, towards the eastern hallway that led to the rear stairwell of the Ministry. He didn’t break eye contact as he ran his hands down his chest, his palms smoothing over his sleek black dress robes in a way that screamed both confidence and urgency. 

From his chest, his hands trailed up his glossy black tie, fingers straightening his emerald studded tie clip before climbing the rest of the way to the knot at the very top. He subtly tugged it once, twice, three times. All while making eye contact with her. She inclined her head.

Draco nodded back, finally removing Pansy from the inescapable spell that was his attention, and turned his back to her to disappear into the depths of the Ministry.

“Well, that _‘wicked bit of magic’_ you’re fawning over would actually be the work of Miss Parkinson, who—Pansy?”

At the sound of her name, Pansy’s consciousness slammed back to her surroundings, the return so violent it felt as if she'd been released from a horrifyingly strong Imperio. Her dark green eyes, wide and slightly glassy, flickered up to meet Harry, who was giving her a look of equal parts concern and confusion.

“Oh, so _you’re_ the brilliant Miss Parkinson I’ve been hearing so much about!” boomed an unfamiliar voice, and Pansy glanced about to see that somehow, in the last minute or so, she’d allowed herself to be surrounded by a flock of Weasleys.

_Brilliant, indeed_ , she thought sardonically.

Although she’d become well acquainted with most of the Weasley family, the one addressing her now she was sure she hadn’t met before. So, that meant, he must be—

“You must be Charlie,” she said, her voice sounding a bit airy and brittle, even to herself. She cleared her throat and stuck out her hand in a friendly manner. Luckily for Pansy, the second oldest Weasley son didn’t seem to notice anything amiss about her behavior, and shook her hand with gusto.

“Correct!” Charlie laughed, the sound hearty and full of life. 

“I _am_ Charlie. Don’t think we’ve met, but I’ve heard loads about you from Georgie and Gin through letters. Seems to me you’re practically part of the family now, huh Parkinson? An honorary Weasley, just like Harry here.” 

Charlie’s smile was full of a simple sort of joy, and one that Pansy figured could only be attributed to a happy childhood and a short wick. He reached out a meaty hand and affectionately mussed up Harry’s hair in a gesture more suited for a family gathering than a Ministry Gala. Potter’s hair went from somewhat managed to its normal chaotic state. 

“Charlie!” Ginny gasped, quickly checking over her shoulders before she reared up onto her tip toes to attempt to fix her husband's hair. “I’d finally gotten it into some semblance of order,” she whined quietly, “and now it’s...” Ginny sighed, giving up on the impossible task completely. 

“Sorry,” Harry chuckled, leaning down to plant a quick peck on his wife’s cheek. The action caused Pansy’s mind to stumble back to Draco. Three tugs of his tie. Right.

“If you’ll excuse me, gents and lady,” Pansy purred, shooting a cool look to the Weasleys and Potter as her feet began to move of their own accord. “Just need to powder my nose—”

“Oh, great! I know right where it is! I’ll walk you,” interrupted Ginny, who moved quickly to follow, her expression a forced look of calm. Pansy gritted her teeth but kept moving forward towards the eastern halls.

Once out of earshot of the group, Ginny grabbed Pansy’s hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Pansy,” Ginny said in a low voice, her tone so full of concern it almost broke Pansy’s heart. “We talked about this. He made his choice, and it wasn’t you. You don’t owe him anything—”

“I know that, Ginny,” Pansy snapped, pulling her hand back and casting a glance around them. No one was looking or nearby, so Pansy figured they were safe. 

“I only told you because I—” Pansy stopped, thinking before starting again, “I don’t know why I told you!” she hissed in frustration. She felt the cool mask she hadn’t donned for years beginning to slip easily back into place. A mask of indifference, of uncaring. 

“I certainly didn’t tell you so you and your self righteousness could try and tell me what to do—”

“Have you written to Viktor recently?” Ginny asked, cutting off what was sure to have been an outpouring of hurtful and venomous words against the red-head. Pansy felt the walls she’d been constructing against her friend shatter.

“Yes,” she answered, tonelessly.

Ginny reached back out, taking one of Pansy’s hands into her own. “And?” she prodded.

“Ginny,” Pansy whispered, voice now bordering on broken as she stared into the warm brown eyes of her best friend. “That’s not—this has nothing to do with—” Pansy took a deep breath, steadying herself. “This is the last time. I can’t walk away until I get closure.”

Ginny searched Pansy’s eyes for the lie, for the deceit, but found none. Pansy was sure.

“You said that last time,” Ginny whispered, unconvinced.

Pansy sighed, pulling her hand from Ginny. 

“We say that _everytime,_ ” she said under her breath, and with one last glance around to make sure she wasn’t being watched or tailed, Pansy turned on her heels and disappeared down the hall towards the stairwell.

* * *

Draco’s mouth was hot and wet against Pansy’s skin as he trailed sloppy kisses down the slope of her neck. Pansy groaned quietly, the contrast between the cool bricks at her back and Draco flush against her chest sent shivers up her spine. 

“Took you long enough,” Draco breathed into her skin, nipping her neck just below her ear as he rutted against her hip.

“Don’t leave a mark,” Pansy snapped. “I couldn’t exactly excuse myself to the Department of Mysteries, could I?”

“It’s always excuses with you,” he growled, hands sliding over her sides as his fingers dug into her hips.

He grabbed at the material of her dress, rucking it up over her thighs as his mouth claimed hers in a bruising kiss. “This is in my way,” he grunted.

His fingers twisted into the satin, and Pansy gasped when she heard the ripping sound of fabric.

“You did _not_ just tear my dress,” she hissed.

“And what would you do, if I did?” Draco crooned in a mocking tone, searing kisses up her jaw and to her ear. When she didn’t reply, she felt his chest rumble against hers. “Nothing. Just like I thought.”

She opened her mouth to retort and was cut off by his lips crashing into hers, his tongue diving into her mouth leaving no room for breath or protest. Her nails bit into the back of his neck, cutting crescent shaped marks into the skin and she moaned when his hands slipped beneath the dress to brush against her core.

“No knickers? A little scandalous for a Ministry function, don’t you think?” he taunted.

“Can’t wear knickers in this kind of dress, you ponce.”

Pansy’s head fell back, smacking against the stone and she groaned at the feel of him. She hated how much she loved this. Hated how familiar he felt beneath her fingers, against her tongue. Her leg hitched up to drape around his hip as he swiped against her clit, pulling a low moan from her throat.

They’d been meeting up like this for years, always rushed and always fierce, but it wasn’t always in secret. Not until after Pansy’s disownment, and the subsequent dissolvement of her and Draco’s betrothal. Not until after Astoria. That was when this blissfully beautiful phenomenon between them turned into the horrifically disfigured thing it was now. 

Not that it was Astoria’s fault. Who would say no to the prestige of being attached to a Malfoy? If anything, Pansy felt sorry for her, because the poor girl hadn’t yet realized she’d agreed to a deal with a devil. A devil who didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.

Her hand sunk between them and pulled at the button on his trousers, and she felt him smirk against her lips, his tongue darting out to push back into her mouth. Claiming, always claiming, herself for him. 

He was hot and heavy against her palm, the skin familiar and smooth and a whine slipped past her lips as his fingers pulled away from her, biting back into her hips and pulling her away from the wall.

“Turn around,” he growled.

Sweat glistened against the flush of her chest, cooled against the stone wall that was now at her front. He used a foot to shove her leg to the side, widening her stance, and he pressed his right hand to the small of her back. 

“Draco,” she rasped.

She felt the head of his cock brush through her folds before pushing into her entrance. With a snap of his hips, he buried himself inside of her and her back arched into the wall. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned, his hips grinding into the round of her arse.

Her fingernails nearly broke as they scratched against the flagstone wall, searching for purchase. Draco picked up his pace, pumping in and out of her with urgency, and his hand left the small of her back to bunch the fabric at her side. 

“Mine,” he hissed, the guttural sound scraping his throat, almost as if against his will. “Always mine.”

“I think,” Pansy panted, craning her neck to look at him, “that your girlfriend would have something to say about that.”

Draco let out a huff of mirthless laughter as his chest fell forward against her back, his left hand next to her face, palm flat against the wall. Pansy’s eyes squeezed shut as her mouth dropped back open, a silent scream of pleasure as he sank deeper into her.

“Nothing. She means nothing,” he groaned in her ear. Pansy lifted herself up on the tips of her toes, pushing her hips backward. 

“Fuck,” she moaned, turning her head to the left to lay her heated cheek against the cold stone. 

Pansy’s eyes fluttered open, the low light of level nine casting a blue glow around them, and she caught a glint of silver on Draco’s fourth finger. The massive emerald set in the Malfoy signet ring glared back at her, and her breath caught in her chest.

He had always worn it on his right hand. He wasn’t supposed to wear it on his left hand, at least not until…

Her world narrowed to a pinpoint, the heat she’d felt seconds ago freezing in her veins. She felt Draco’s breath at the back of her neck as he rained kisses down along the top of her shoulder.

“I’m gonna—fuck, Pans, are you close?” he grunted, his hips beginning to jerk out of rhythm.

“Yeah,” Pansy breathed, heart broken and relieved all at once. “Yeah, me too.”

Draco swore and his hips slowed, pumping three more times before he emptied himself inside her. Pansy felt numb as his breathing returned to normal, and she barely kept herself from flinching when he leaned down to give her one last kiss against her cheek. 

She listened to him right himself—straightening his robes and fixing his hair behind her. She held out her hand without looking at him, and felt the warm wood of her wand meet her palm as he handed it back to her. With a flick of her wrist she went through the cycle of spells she always did after their meetings, repairing the rip in her dress and cleaning herself up. The marks on her skin that she’d asked Draco not to leave were gone with a wave, and her mussed hair fell back into soft curls.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked after a few minutes of silence, coming up behind her. “Did you not..? Pansy, I asked and you didn’t say anything. We can fix that—” He reached out a hand, but Pansy turned herself away from him, the ice that had been in her veins starting to thaw.

She took a deep breath before turning to face him. “That was the last time,” Pansy said, her voice stronger than it had been in a long time. 

Draco laughed. “Isn’t that my line?” he said in a smug tone, his lips curling in the way that normally made Pansy’s heart stuttered. But, her heart continued to beat at its normal rate.

“I’m leaving.”

It was Draco’s turn to freeze. He stared at her, eerily still as his gaze swept over her face. “ _Leaving?_ ” he said slowly, incredulously, as if the thought of her doing so had never crossed his mind. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I mean, this was the last time because I’m leaving, Draco. I’ve…” Pansy paused, looking down at her hands. “I’ve met someone. Or, I’ve been talking to someone. Through letters,” she smiled to herself. “We’ve been sending letters.”

“Okay,” Draco said. “But what does that mean? For us?”

Pansy knew this was a break up, of sorts. She knew that most in this situation would probably cry, but for once Pansy didn’t feel like crying. She felt like laughing.

“Us?” she said, looking back up at him, his gray eyes fixed on her face. “There is no _us_ anymore, Draco. There hasn’t been an _us_ for a long time,” she sighed. “You’ve got Astoria now, and I have...Viktor.”

“Viktor? Who’s Viktor?” Draco demanded.

“Viktor Krum.”

It was the first time she’d said it out loud. It was the first time she’d allowed herself to say his name, to claim him in any capacity. It felt freeing.

“So then, what was this?” Draco asked, anger quickly flushing his face. “You have Viktor, your pen pal in another country, and I have Astoria right up stairs, my—”

“Your fiance.”

Draco stopped. “How did you—”

“Your ring,” Pansy said, tipping her head toward the piece of jewelry. “It’s on your left hand, instead of your right. There’s only one reason for that change.”

Draco’s face paled. “I was going to tell you,” he rushed, staggering forward. “But, you know it doesn’t mean anything, _she_ doesn’t mean anything. Pansy, please listen—”

“She may not mean anything to you, but your title does. Your title as a Malfoy means more to you than anything,” Pansy lifted her chin to look at him dead in the eyes as she put into words what had been eating away at her for years. “Even me.”

Draco’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no noise came out. He couldn’t deny it. He _wouldn’t_.

Pansy gave him a sad smile. “It’s okay, I know,” she whispered. “And I hope you find your happiness, Draco Malfoy, but, I won’t give up mine just because you aren’t willing to pursue yours.”

She nodded, more to herself than anything, and turned away from him.

“Wait,” he called out. “Pansy, please don’t,” she heard him swallow. “Just wait.”

“I’m done waiting on you, Draco,” she said, “and Viktor’s waiting on me.” She glanced back, giving him one final look. 

“And I won’t keep him waiting.” 

The only sound that filled the empty corridor was the sound of Pansy’s heels clicking against the stone floors, echoing off the walls as she exited level nine. With every click, she fought a smile. Because, with every click, she was one step closer to her second chance at happiness.

She could hardly wait.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and partial inspo for this story comes from the song "Can't Hardly Wait" by The Replacements. It's a great song by a great band and if you're interested you should check it out!
> 
> Massive thanks, love, tears, and gratitude goes out to my alpha/beta who shall remain nameless until reveals. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
